Non Omnis Moriar
by Intervigilium
Summary: Challenge Fic, "The Nutella Bowl Round". Contestants had a week to write 1000-2500 words about "Frenemies". My opponent wrote: /s/11502349/1/Just-this-Once


**DISCLAIMER:** Don't own the characters, don't own the world. Any reference to Mean Girls is, due to the nature of this challenge, entirely intentional.

He woke up to the smell of medicine; it wasn't a scent he liked, but one he had to grow accustomed to. Being a Slytherin had its occupational hazards.

"Welcome back, Mr. Crabbe." Madam Pomfrey looked satisfied, holding a small phial under his nose, her wand aimed gently at his chest. She moved efficiently to the bed next to his, where he could now see the snoring figure of Goyle. The nurse waved the same smelly liquid under Goyle's nose, murmuring a spell that gave the room a little extra light. It didn't take long for his eyes to open.

"What happened?" he asked groggily.

"From what I gather, you were both found next to a plate with a few of these," she said, holding a small chocolate cake up. "It's laced with Sleeping Draught, perhaps something more. It's too much waste of potion on a prank, if you ask me."

Goyle grunted. "If I get whoever did this, I'll –"

"Honestly, Mr. Goyle, the prank was entirely predicated on someone being careless enough to eat something without knowing where it came from." She shook her head, sealing the phial shut. "It seems to me you've no one to blame but yourself, really."

Crabbe's eyes shone; there was something he enjoyed about seeing his friend being scolded. But when the nurse's eyes returned to him, Crabbe slowly realized he was just as qualified for the pity stare she gave them as Goyle was.

"Okay. Funny. Can we go back now?"

"I have yet to break down the exact dosage and components of the potion. You may want to spend the night here in case there are any side effects. I do not enjoy the thought of having to go to the dungeons just to get you medicine, say, if flowers decide to grow all over your heads during the night."

"Flowers?!" they shouted as one.

Madam Pomfrey's mouth twitched slightly. At least, opportunities for amusement were never lacking in her line of work. "If this was a prank, we can never be too careful. Now rest. I'll notify Professor Snape that you're both alive," she commanded, retreating to a door at the far end of the room.

The two Slytherins stared blankly ahead.

"She wasn't serious, was she?"

"'Course she wasn't!" But, regardless of how confident he sounded, Goyle ran a nervous hand over his hair. "It's your fault, you know."

"How?"

"You noticed the cakes first!"

"Really? Suppose I also stuffed your big mouth, then."

"Oh, shut it."

"Sod off."

Both pulled their covers and turned away from each other, letting silence take hold of the room.

Not that it lasted.

"Crabbe?"

"What?"

"Those were really good cakes."

Goyle had a point; rare event. "Yeah. They were."

Both boys turned to face the ceiling, almost at the same time.

"Gave me a really good nap too."

 _One of the best naps of his life_ , Crabbe had to admit. Moments like these made him feel a tinge of regret for enjoying seeing Goyle in trouble. While he didn't exactly like it, he knew their place in the world. All those talks about lineage and importance of blood and all the details he was supposed to remember but never could – he was always half-listening, anyway. How all that translated to a simple creed: stick together. Prevail. Rule.

 _Malfoy's the king bee and we're his large workers._

 _Are there king bees?_

 _Reckon Draco's a queen, then?_

"What're you laughing about?" Goyle asked him.

"Nothing."

Goyle shrugged. He just accepted things so easily.

"Goyle?"

"What?"

"Do you want another?"

"Another what?"

"Another cake, that's what."

Goyle turned to see Crabbe holding a chocolate cake in each hand.

"Where did those come from?"

It was Crabbe's turn to shrug. "Pocket. I thought if I got hungry later I'd have 'em."

The anger that Goyle felt from knowing his friend had taken two of those for himself quickly dissipated, as Crabbe casually threw one of the incapacitating treats his way.

That also led to panic.

"What if...?"

"We WON'T grow flowers in our heads, dunce."

"Right. I'm sure we won't."

With each smiling bite they took, that newfound drowsiness grew, and they accepted it without complaint. When Madam Pomfrey returned to find them heavy asleep, cake bits spread all over the covers, she simply shook her head, smiling, and let them rest.

* * *

"Feeling better, then?" Draco asked them the next morning.

Both tried their best not to look ashamed; a common effort for Crabbe and Goyle when it came to talking to Draco.

"It was just some bad cake," one of them mumbled. Little they knew how far from each other's topics they were.

Draco sized them up. "You look well enough, though. I'd say watch what you eat from now on, but that would be rather pointless, wouldn't it?"

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, sharing a single thought they revisited many a time over the years.

 _Why should Draco just get to stomp around like a giant while the rest of us try not to get smashed under his feet? We're stronger than he is, right? Probably a little less smart, but people like us just as much as they like Draco - which it isn't much – and when did it become okay for one person to be the boss of everybody because that's not what Hogwarts is about! We should totally just HEX DRACO!_

"What are you two smirking about?" Draco asked them.

"Nothing."

* * *

Every year, that was always a cold winter night.

It didn't bother him. If not the cold itself, he had always liked the feeling of a cold day. He had a hard time explaining that; explaining was always difficult. Words were difficult.

The fact that no one bothered asking too many questions was something of a blessing. The few he had to answer were usually variations of:

"So, how was it? You know, **there**?"

A quick inspection of his hollow eyes and sunken features was all other people needed to move on to another subject, and quickly.

Conversations were rare for Gregory Goyle.

He walked past the enduring Hogwarts gates with minimal inquiry. Few knew why he was there, and even less cared enough to give him pause. The stairs were still too small for his feet, as they had always been. His long arm traced patterns along the walls as he kept on walking.

He failed to see a student on his way up. Even for a holiday, the school was remarkably empty. But HE was there, at the same corridor he had been for the last two years, waiting for Goyle to appear around the corner.

"You look better than you did last year."

"Last year you told me I looked like shit. It doesn't take much to improve from that."

Against his better judgement, Neville smiled. "Good point."

With all their history, there was no need for pleasantry exchanges. Neville kept observing as Goyle walked on by, a man very different from the boy he used to know. If not a good man, at the very least a man that now understood the crimes of his youth. And why he had to do his time.

Azkaban broke all men and women it devoured. Whether your pieces fell into deeper darkness or attached themselves to a measure of redemption, that was entirely up to you.

Gregory had done enough in his life to hear the call of darkness; that he held to the last spark of twilight he could was a miracle in itself.

Two floors up, as he paced back and forth next to a clean stone wall, Goyle kept his eyes closed, willing himself to believe this year things would be different. That he would open the door and find the room before him empty and clean, and he would be able to leave and never come back.

 _A fresh start, for both of us._

But the door materialized itself like it was supposed to, and when he opened it, it was clear no one had been listening to him.

Ash drifted like snow across the room, filling every inch of the floor. Light emanated from random bits of molten stone along the walls. At the room's center, the now familiar pile of wooden furniture kept on burning; a makeshift campfire. There always seemed to be more things to burn.

And there was also him, of course. The fixed stare and hunched shoulders. Gorilla arms, flat nose and thick neck.

While his soul grew old and bitter, he hadn't aged a single day.

"Sorry to disappoint you." Crabbe's voice now had an unnatural quality about it, but for years Goyle strugged to define it. Words were difficult.

Goyle sat on the ground, resting his back against the wall. He never got too close; the flames burned strongly enough to keep the entire room comfortable. He retrieved a small parcel from his pocket, rolling it in his hands.

He felt Crabbe's vigilant stare.

"Why do you still bother coming here?"

"Someone has to."

"Right. Merlin forbid a ghost could 'live' in peace."

"Peace is all I want for you."

"No, you don't." A vicious note rose in Vincent's words. "Every year you come here only to deny me the one thing that would bring me peace, Goyle! The one thing I asked you to do!"

Goyle's expression shifted; his features carved and serious. "We've been through this. I won't murder them for you. No one. Not even Draco."

"For ME?" Crabbe rose, flinging a burning branch to the side. "D'you reckon, still, that this is only about me? Have you forgotten what it was like for us at this cursed school? Do you even remember or did your brain finally give up for good?"

"I remember," Goyle answered sadly. "I remember everything. But what you ask - it won't solve anything. Deep down, even you know that it won't."

"IT WILL FOR ME!" The ghost noticed Goyle's hands - it only made him angrier. He knew very well what was inside the parcel.

"Again with those."

"They remind me of a good day." Goyle's tone dropped, as did his head. "Today. So long ago."

"Stupid kids being stupid enough to eat drugged food. It's all there was to it." The ghost turned away from Goyle.

They allowed the cracking wood replace the conversation for a while. Goyle still contemplated the parcel.

"It was our fault," he muttered. "Some of it. Most of it, perhaps. The meaner he was to us, the more we tried to win him back. We knew it was better to be in his posse, hating life, than to not be in at all." He looked around the room. "How little we knew."

Crabbe turned around, showing an evil smirk. "Don't make this about your adulthood dilemmas, Goyle. At least I stood up to him. I put him in his place."

"How far you've come since then."

"Fuck. You. All those words and all I hear are excuses for your cowardice."

"We are both cowards. Isn't that the reason you're still here?"

He could tell that hit home. For once, he didn't mind one bit. Goyle was tired of feeling sorry. For both of them.

"Draco never understood, Vincent. WE never understood. Calling somebody else fat won't make you any skinnier. Calling someone stupid doesn't make you any smarter. And ruining - or ending - Draco Malfoy's life now? Definitely wouldn't make us any happier. All we can do is try and solve the problem in front of us."

"Did you start an encyclopedia diet or something?"

"You're dodging. How's that a solution?"

"I gave you the solution to my problem years ago, Miss Peacemaker."

"And I told you then, as I'm telling you now: **no**."

"Fine. Fuckin' leave, then. You've done your charity for the year. Go feel good about yourself. Breathe. Travel. Pay someone crazy enough to sleep with you. Do whatever."

Goyle stood up, misery all over his tired face. Opening the bundle, he retrieved two large pieces of chocolate cake. He cleaned a portion of the floor and set one of those down, sighing.

No answer, nothing. Only scolding, furious eyes telling him to go. Gregory sealed the door shut behind him, unable to see his long-lost friend stare at the cake for the longest time.

 _Next year. Maybe next year_ , he thought, bits of cake falling from his hand.

"Goodbye, Goyle. Hopefully, for the last time."


End file.
